


Trouble ahead

by Jimmikins



Series: Trouble Ahead [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: I hope, More coming soon - Freeform, Multi, Prequel, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2301656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimmikins/pseuds/Jimmikins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tensions are welling up between the Federation and the Klingon empire- which could lead to full scale war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is short beginning to a longer work (I hope). I just wanted to make something short and cute to test out a headcanon of mine, but then all sorts of technicalities involving the klingons and the federation arose while I wrote it, and lo and behold, I hope to make this a series. Comment, kudos, if you're interested!  
> Edit: This is the new and revised version! I took some out, added, and edited a lot. I hope to actually begin to routinely update this now

   The end of Alpha shift was slow coming. Very slow coming. Jim had to have gone over every chapter and every character developement of ‘A tale of two cities’ (his current favourite classical novel) during the hours he sat, defunct in his chair. There was nothing, no fights, no incredible space battles or even annoying diplomatic moments. At long last, the light on his armrest blinked red, signalling the shift change. He heaved a sigh as he pushed up out of his chair, pulling down his tunic and glancing over at Spock, who had a similar, if more composed, look of....well, Jim wouldn’t call it 'haggardness', but he certainly wouldn’t say he was refreshed. The recent battering of one mission after another was taking a toll on everybody, even composed Mister Spock. Even a Vulcan needed a rest now and then, as much as he denied it.

  Jim gave him another once over before deciding to speak. "Mister Spock, might you mind if you accompanied me to dinner? It's getting late, and I know you're probably not going to eat unless I ask you to. You aren't looking the best right now, if you'll pardon the insult." he said, with his usual charming half smile that asked, ‘Shouldn’t the Captain take care of his first officer?’.. Spock responded with a slight, barely conceivable tilt of the head, which Jim took as a nod. They walked together into the crowded turbolift, with Jim accidentally stepping on Kevin Riley’s foot. The young navigator gave him a withheld look of annoyance, glancing at the floor. Normally, Riley would just laugh and brush it off, but everyone was tense at the moment, so Jim let it slide in silence.

  The Federation was in a state of chaos ever since loss of the Geta Thamma Star system. Lost in a bloody conflict between the Federation and the Klingons, it was a brutal and saddening affair.. I began with a dispute, when several months prior, a Terran had been taken hostage by rebel Klingon forces. Before it happened, Jim hadn’t even been aware that Q'onoS  _ had  _ rebels. 

   That poor Terran, a simple goods trader, had been subject to death. According to the reports, for no good reason, either. Even the Romulans, along with the rest of the galaxy, was shaken by the news- and what it foretold of the future. Hell, especially the Romulans, because even they wouldn't do something so brash. They prefer to be a bit more tactical, more subtle. Manipulating treaties and finding loopholes so the other party will always be the one blamed. It’s a logical approach, very clever, had noted Mister Spock, when Jim admitted this aloud, and to that, Bones reacted with outrage, of course. He takes offense to nearly all of Spock’s statements lately. Recently, Spock snapped back at him less subtlety than usual, and Jim knew they needed reprieve from this brutality. It was a massive tragedy, but his crew’s health mattered as well. The turbolift let out a small ding and they both stepped out.

   The cafeteria was crowded and noisy, but it was a cheerful, uplifting sort of noisy. Where the air was filled with small talk and laughter, relief that their shift was over and they could eat, drink, socialize and rest. It'd been restless work, as of late, 24/7 patrolling. The navigators had it worse, along with the science officers; having to comb over every inch of the space ahead for threats, when there were obviously none. You couldn’t expect less from a Federation Flagship. They had to be a good role model for the other crews, the other Captains, and they had to show the threat what they were capable of. This time of near-war and danger unsettled them all, disrupting their peaceful society. They were a predominantly peaceful race at this point in history, The Terrans, and to see so much violence is like looking back into their unseemly past, which is an inducement of both shame and fear. Personally, Jim hoped they wouldn't have to return to that monstrous time. But he wasn't sure about the Federations intent anymore. He trusted the President, and all the leaders; he had to. He had to have faith in their decisions, faith in those who appointed him, because they make the decisions for all of the members of the federation, and therefore control the course of everything. He knows what the Klingons will choose. They've been itching for war, ever since the loss of General Tor'ack- in a conflict that happened in the neutral zone, between his ship and one of the Federations. That one ship shouldn't be a reflection on the entire association, but...he supposed, neither should one rebel group of Q'onoS.

   Jim took a seat at small, empty table, and Spock across from him. They'd been silent this entire time; a friendly, comfortable silence. They were both looking through their diet cards, at the options. "I'm eyeing the chicken sandwich. How about you?" Jim asked, good-naturedly. It wasn’t real chicken, of course- but it supposedly tasted just like it. No one ate real meat these days; why would you? Spock just raised a brow and set his diet card down on the table. 

   "Soup, as usual, Captain. The food synthesizers were recently updated at the last starbase with a new...ethnic dish, of Vulcan origin. I have not had a chance to try it as of yet."

  "Spock, the last Star Base we visited was starbase thirteen, and that was....four days ago." Jim said, obvious worry coating his words. He couldn’t force him to eat, but it was a bit ridiculous. Spock waved it off. 

  "Do not worry about my health, Jim. And I do not need another physical. Vulcans don't need sustenance as often as Terrans do." He reminded, as if going without eating for four days is a completely healthy, normal occurrence. Jim did notice that he took a certain pride in reminding him of his biological differences, as if anything that separated him from his Terran blood was a marvel. He’d never admit it. 

  "Well, I may not be a doctor, but I know that going that long without food can't be healthy, even for a Vulcan." He asserted firmly with a shake of his head. But he didn't push. Instead, he just got up and went to the free synthesizer for his chicken-but-not-really-sandwich.

  Jim sat down with his, and a few minutes later, Spock sat down with his own plate. The thick, chowder like soup had a reddish-tan color, and it looked...less than appetizing. The scent was similar to arsenic. He gave Spock an incredulous look, slightly surprised that they would stock the synthesizers with something that looked toxic to the majority of the crew.  "Are you really going to eat that?" he asked softly, not intending to be rude, but it looked...inedible. 

  Spock just raised a brow. "Jim, this is a Vulcan staple food."

  "Mister Spock, forgive me if I was insensitive. But..." he wanted to add something else onto that, but there was nothing he could say without sounding uncultured. He watched warily as Spock ate a spoonful. Spock notice how closely we was being watched, and he pushed the bowl towards Jim. 

  "You may try it, if it interests you so much. It has a very...sweet taste." he said, as if using that word made him uncomfortable. Jim figured it was more so him not wanting to admit he enjoyed something like that. He couldn’t quite imagine Vulcans, with their sophistication and pride, having a sweet staple food. Did they have candy on their planet?

  Jim was nervous about it, almost positive that the Terran definition of ‘sweet’ definitely differed from the Vulcan version. He picked up the spoon and took a very small sip, after gathering up courage to do so. He immediately dropped it, with a small  _ ting! _ and coughing, (purposely away from the food) and got splatters of red-brown soup all over the  rest of the table. His mouth was on  _ fire _ . Not Iowa chilli peppers on fire, not Andromedan fire powder hot, a whole other level of pain. It was almost if someone had captured the heat of Vulcan in a food. He glanced up at Spock with his eyes watering to the point of tears running down his red face, covering his mouth with his hands. "How can you call  _ that  _ sweet?" he asked, his voice muffled, and to that, Spock just tilted his head. 

  "I should have mentioned that Terrans have very different tastebuds than Vulcans do. What I perceive as sweet, you must perceive as very spicy. " he explained, pulling his soup back over to himself and taking another spoonful. Jim just got up to rush over to a synthesizer to get some liquid. The crewmembers still in the cafeteria muffled laughter with their hands, watching him panic and fan himself. It was a little bit humbling, pretty humiliating.  He was a little peeved at Spock, but his first officer would never admit to doing it on purpose, so he let it go once he got something to cool the heat. 

  Spock wasn't exactly smiling- of course he wasn't- but his face wasn't as neutral as usual, showing subtle signs of amusement.


	2. Inner Conflict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting tense between the Federation and the Klingons, and now the Andorians and the Vulcans are having their say on the matter. How long will it be before this gets resolved? And why is Spock so conflicted?

   It had been three months now with no reprieve. Spock had gone into one of his contemplative states to handle the strain, and to avoid snapping at people or showing emotion. Jim had noticed, but he didn't bring it up to him or prod him about it. They all coped in different ways. 

  Jim handled it with dry humour and plenty of socializing with the other grumpy crewmembers, since there was no getting anything out of Spock, and McCoy was constantly in a sour mood. The stress between the Klingons and the Federation had only become tenser. The Andorians have sent out a message of anger and hostility towards the Klingons for their sin- they were also a violent race, and yearned for a cause to fight for. Not that they needed one- it was just an excuse to shed blood. Jim wondered why they were even a part of the Federation, before dismissing the thought as full of racial prejudice. The Federation high council announced that they didn't condone threats towards the Klingons made by Federation members, and that they weren't encouraging the Andorians. This was becoming less of a Starfleet problem and more of an entire association problem, which filled Jim with concern. Every time he looked to the future, all he could picture was...war. All-out war, the kind they hadn’t seen since the Federation-Romulan conflict that none of his crew had been alive for. 

  Meanwhile, even Vulcan had been in upset. Jim only knew because he walked in on Spock listening to a transmission from his mother. He hadn't meant to intrude, but...

  Jim was frozen in the doorway, watching Spock glance up at him before dismissing the sight. He was very focused on the comm unit in his hand. He'd never seen such a look of concern on his Officers, and his friends, face. Vulcan was split into two halves. One side was adamant on being an ally to the Federation in this time- the other argued they should remain neutral. Starfleet had aided Vulcan many times in the past; some argued they should do the same now. Spocks mother- Amanda- was worried. Sarek agreed that they should remain neutral- to keep their reputation of complete peace after the time of Surak. To allow and aid in violence would be a disgrace to the teachings of him; there was obvious confliction on Spock’s face; but you would only be able to detect it if you'd known him as long as Jim had. The two had grown close in the three years they'd served together; closer than Jim ever imagined they would when they met. He'd found that this cold at times, always logical man, could be kind, humorous, and sorrowful. But only if you knew how to see it. A Vulcans brand of grief is miles from a Terrans- inner conflict is painful to a Vulcan. To such an orderly, logical mind, disorder is unimaginable. Jim couldn't say he understood his limited feeling, but he did know how painful inner conflict was. 

   Jim was an emotional man. Not overemotional, not whiny, not a child. But he accepted his feelings, and the fact that he had them. This is what separated the two.

   Spock bid his mother goodbye and set down the Comm unit. He looked as though he was noticing Jim for the first time, the glazed look leaving his eyes as he snapped back to reality. 

   "Captain. May I help you?"" He asked, pushing the Comm unit behind himself. 

   Jim shook his head, walking into the neat, humble room. Spock kept his quarters very clean. There was a bed, a small one; a desk opposite, with papers stacked and put away in a drawer, with a small chair. A sizable collection of books. The colours were deep and soothing- warm oranges and golds with plenty of black accents and candle light. There was a place in the far back dedicated to meditation. He was entirely familiar with the room; he’d spent many nights in here, with late conversations, late chess-games, after-shift time spent together for no other reason than they enjoyed each other’s companionship. It was...more than a friendship, but any conventional label for it escaped the two of them. 

  Jim took a seat in the chair, after turning it to face the bed. Spock was still seated on the very edge of it, his back straight as he watched the Captain. Jim felt for him. Mainly because he'd seen behind the mask of perfectly arranged, perfectly neutral features. "I couldn't help but hear a bit of your conversation. So Vulcan is divided now, too. This is getting out of hand." he said somberly, half of a nervous chuckle escaping him. He leaned forward and laid his head in one of his hands. He hadn't mentioned the current state of things aloud in a while- he didn't want to talk about such a serious thing when his crew was already stretched so thin, but Spock was more than the average crewmember. Spock just regarded him with the same neutral, empty expression- but Jim noticed a slight tensing of the skin between his brows, and how his eyes gazed into the distance instead of focusing on him.

 "Spock, this must be hard for you. " He added. He figured Spock was wanting to be neutral about this situation- even more so now that he'd learned his father was- but also had sympathy for the Terran trader that was lost. He'd only been one of the many victims lost to the Klingons in recent years. Out of everybody, Jim alone had to be there for his first officer. If he wasn’t, Spock would just lock himself up inside of his mind, and it wasn’t good for him. 

  The Klingons had become much more bold recently. It wouldn't be very long until they make a move, and a big one, in Jim’s mind. Things were coming to a standstill; no one knew which side would tip the balance. 

  Spock was silent for a long period. He had clasped his hands together and set them in his lap, and after several moments looked straight at Jim. "Captain- Jim," he decided- Spock mainly used Jim’s first name in either very lax situations, or very serious. Jim felt this was the latter. "What would you do? How would you proceed in this situation?" he asked.

  Jim wasn't sure if Spock was trying to remind himself of Jim’s character, of his morals, or if he was seeking guidance. The former was more likely, as Spock would look towards a Vulcan for guidance, not a Terran. Perhaps he was looking in reassurance of his own opinion of the matter. Jim was his friend- that’s why his opinion mattered to him. It took Jim a good, long while to respond. He didn't want to disappoint him, but he wouldn’t lie. 

  "Spock, this situation...that Trader… it's a tragedy. An enormous one. The brash actions the Klingons are making are...uncalled for, and unacceptable. That being said, war is never savoury. If there is some way, some possible way to avoid it, we have to. We have to look at the mistakes of our ancestors and ensure we won't make them again. And that is my opinion on the matter. However…. My opinion, it doesn’t matter beyond you and I. This is something that our superiors will decide." he said. Spocks expression didn't change- his hands stayed unmoving, his eyes trained on Jim’s face. 

  "Thank you, Jim. Violence is...never logical. You are correct." he said, his tone soft. Jim nodded and braced his hand on the back of the chair, pushing himself up out of it. It was beginning to get near the time he went to bed. 

  "Captain- wait." Spock said, standing up with enough speed to startle Jim back a few steps. He always forgot about the Vulcans capabilities.  "Are you going to the cafeteria? I can accompany you, if it is acceptable." he offered. Jim was a little bit touched. That wasn't where he was headed, but he nodded anyways. 

  Jim refocused on the task at hand. He was in the Captain’s chair, and his Yeoman had handed him a fuel consumption report to sign, which he'd been blankly staring at for several seconds. She prodded him lightly with a small frown. 

   "Sir? Are you alright? Should I call Doctor-"

   "No, there’s no need for that," he assured her quickly, signing the document, confirming that he'd read it, and handed it back to her. No need to bother Bones with his problems right now. He was feeling slightly conflicted when it came to Spock. He seemed to be warming up to him a little more than usual- but it was probably due to the stress. Once this tense situation was over- assuming it did end soon- he'd revert back to his usual self.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short! Was originally apart of chapter 2, but it didn't make sense to not break them up.

    Jim sat back in his chair, crossing his legs and glancing around the bridge. Everybody was functioning normally. Spock was taking a scan for objects possibly in the space ahead, the navigator and helmsman were keeping the ship to her course, and Scotty was down in engineering at the moment. Uhura was monitoring communications. Jim felt slightly...unnecessary. It wasn't the first time, considering he had such a well ordered, capable crew. He appreciated every single member of the 400+ crew. He hated to say it, but it'd been so long since anything worthwhile has happened when he was on duty. There were four shifts; Alpha shift, Beta, Gamma, and Omega. His, the Alpha shift, lasted the longest, and felt so dragged out. He stretched and got up, standing, and everybody glanced over at him, wanting to look at something other than their blank consoles. He sighed and headed towards the turbolift. He decided to actually drop in on Bones and bother him. The turbolift doors snapped shut behind him and he turned the lever, announcing, "Sickbay."

  It'd been a good while since he saw the good doctor outside of mandatory physicals and occasional colds. He stepped out of the lift and walked into the sickbay, which was empty. Thats a good thing, if boring for the poor medical staff. They weren't pretending to be busy, like the bridge crew were; some of the orderlies were literally asleep in their chairs. Nurse Chapel was reading a book at her desk, and McCoy was grumbling over a recently released medical journal. He let out a groan when he saw Jim, slamming his book closed. Jim knew he was secretly pleased to see him, though. 

  "No, let me guess. You have another damn headache. No, you need another stimulant to keep your officers awake. Well, I haven’t got any for you, so you might as well just mosey on out of here," he said, his tone full of bitter annoyance. If it were anyone else, Jim would be both angry and worried. Instead, he just sat down opposite of him and laughed. 

  "Come on, don’t be like that. Don’t act like you haven’t just been waiting for me to come down to entertain you with all of this charming wit." he teased, crossing his arms over his chest. Bones rolled his eyes and gave Nurse Chapel a glare, who'd began to notice and listen to their conversation from a few feet away. She immediately glanced back at her book, pretending to read. 

  "Have you got any idea of how tired of this I am, Jim?" Bones demanded, throwing himself back against his chair. Jim just nodded, and the attitude quickly turned serious. There weren’t many laughs around these days, as much as his men needed it.

  "We're all tired, Bones. All you can do is pray it'll be fixed soon. All we can do is obey orders. All  _ I  _ can do is obey orders." he sighed. It was then Uhura’s voice came through on the comm system. 

  "Captain Kirk to the bridge, Captain Kirk to the bridge, please." 

  Bones raised a brow. "Maybe things will be getting a bit more interesting around here?"

  "That, or they need me to sign another report." he groaned, lifting himself up out of the chair. 

   It had turned out a message came in from Federation High Command. The Vulcan Council had announced their Allegiance with Starfleet, and that they would aid them in any way possible.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to heat up around here! Some fluff and plot development

_ Beep! Beep! Beep! _

  Jim’s eyes watered against the onslaught of lights and sounds administered by his Starfleet standard morning alarm. It was constructed to be the most obnoxious and annoying thing, so that even lazy, overworked ensigns would respond to it. It surely cut back the percentage of late officers, but Jim felt he should have a choice. Especially since he was the damn Captain. 

  He watched through cracked, bleary eyes as a pale, fuzzy arm reached across him to click off the alarm, vaguely acknowledging that it wasn’t his own. That same, uniquely coloured arm came down across his chest, resting hotly against him- Vulcan’s naturally had a higher body temperature than Terrans, after all. Jim ignored the nagging, impending thought of having to get up from his warm bed and warmer bedmate, and turned over into Spock’s embrace. It was entirely innocent, just the two of them sharing a bed. They were both too tired and restless for anything else these days. 

   It wasn’t exactly what he’d call common, but it also wasn’t out of the ordinary. It usually began with Spock making the silent decision of following him to his quarters after their dinner, and simply never excusing himself. Jim made the choice to stay quiet about it, through what he figured was a subconscious fear of frightening him off. It’d taken a long time, years, for Spock to open himself up to him; when they’d first met, Spock’s head and a lot of loyalty remained tightly with Captain Pike. The idea of sleeping beside him, or resting against him, feeling his heart thumping so alien-like in his side, his too-rapid pace of breath, and his too-warm skin against his- never crossed his mind realistically. 

  Sometimes, Jim asked him to stay, when he was afraid where his thoughts could take him if left alone, or worried about Spock falling too deeply into his meditative states. They both had routine habits of over-thought. Last night had been one of those times; consumed with biting fear and animosity towards the decisions of the Federation council, he knew being by himself would lead to dark places he wasn’t comfortable with experiencing, not then. He considered going for a drink with Bones, but that was more like a brief band-aid he was loath to tear off in the morning. Spock was better described as a calming bath. 

  They’d come back to his cabin for a short game of chess after dinner (Jim won) and as Spock stood, Jim had reached out and secured the edge of his tunic sleeve within his fingers, knowing better to mindlessly grab at his hands. He glanced up at him, and Spock understood, taking his seat again. It was easy like that, between them, something Jim treasured. As if Spock simply knew, understood, all of the intense, complex, deeply running emotions that constantly plagued Jim’s mind, despite Spock himself never showing proof of experiencing them himself. Jim knew he did, knew he experienced all that Terrans did and more, and knew that the scathing sentiments of less understanding crewmembers dug holes into his first officer. Holes beside the ones dug by other Vulcans, his own father; his relentless schoolmates, and anybody with racial prejudice within this imperfect society. 

  “Jim.” Spock’s consistently endearing raspy morning voice woke Jim from his wandering thoughts, and he grunted in response, sliding his arms up around his torso and pressing deeply into his chest, feeling the thrumming, the beating of hundreds of fireflies increase gently at the motion. “It is unwise to linger. Our shift begins in approximately nine minutes and thirty two seconds.” He advised, but his responsible words were betrayed by the way he moved against him, and slid his gentle fingers into Jim’s messy blonde locks, massaging at his scalp in a way that made him twist and stretch with a sigh. He supposed paradise really couldn’t last forever. 

\------

  Back on the bridge in a fresh uniform and a coffee in hand, Jim wondered what to categorize his relationship with his first officer as. 

  Spock liked to use the term, ‘Unprecedented’ to describe it. It was accurate, but not very romantic..

  His thoughts were brought back to professional matters when there was a tell-tale beeping at Uhura’s communications console, most of the bored bridge crew looking over at her as she interpreted the incoming coded message from StarFleet command. Her strong voice wavered slightly as she retold it to them, which earned an eyebrow raise from Spock and concerned glances from the helm. “A message from Admiral Commack, Captain. It details on another conflict, just outside of the neutral zone….in Federation space… It was between a Klingon rebel ship and a Federation member.” she swallowed, and repeated the message in her earpiece before continuing. “Klingon command denies responsibility for the Rebel group, and...we have standing orders to treat any Klingon ship with utmost hostility, and to partake in combat if threatened or engaged.” 

  Nobody on the bridge breathed for a couple seconds, Jim felt. He certainly didn’t. This was the closest to the tipping point for a full-blown war that he’d been since the Organian dispute. He ordered her to send a confirmation signal, and went on the ship-wide comm to inform the crew of the orders. He didn’t appear shaken- on the outside. That was an important aspect of maintaining stability and command. He couldn’t look weak in front of them, but he didn’t feel strong. He didn’t like the idea of shooting down people- but, he couldn’t think of them as people… Klingons were murderers. A violent, brutal race. They’ve enslaved and killed thousands. So, why did these orders make him feel so uncomfortable?

  He felt Spock’s eyes on him from the science console, and the doors of the turbolift opened with a  _ woosh,  _ revealing their very own country doctor, who was rushing to his chair with a look of disbelief on his face. _ I’ve got it from all sides today, huh _ , he thought to himself. 

  “Jim, is this really…” he said, his voice absent of the usual wit or teasing. Jim was satisfied to see that war wasn’t a welcomed topic for any of them. He felt for Bones; nobody loathed war or killing as much as a doctor. “Is it really going to be...war?”

  “Nothing is official yet. Remember that.” he assured him, or maybe he assured himself. “Let’s not focus on the ramifications- it’ll just drive you nuts. If you’re not already,” he teased, attempting to alleviate any of the tension around them, thicker than Andorian molasses. It didn’t help. 

  As if on cue, with Bones still beside his chair, minutes after their message from command, a ship appeared on their long-range scanners. A Klingon ship. 

  There was no good reason for it to be in this area of space. They were traveling to the nearest Starbase to restock and rest, so they were near several Federation star systems and outposts, deep in Federation space. The only idea in Jim’s mind is that they’d received similar orders as he. He called for the helm to raise their shields.

  “Uhura, hail them. I don’t want this to turn violent. Sulu, signal yellow alert.” The commands rolled off his tongue as he felt adrenaline, for the first time in weeks, increase his heartrate, causing sweat to bead in the palms of his hands. The ship was getting closer, making a bee-line for them. Why this area of space? What’s their goal? Why hadn’t they raised their own shields? They can’t possibly think they wouldn’t be stopped…

  “No response to my hailing, Captain.” Uhura responded. It was to be expected. 

  “Keep hailing. They could change their minds. Spock, see if you can scan their ship before their shields go up.” 

  The ship was getting closer and closer, but it wasn’t the typical warbird. It was ragged, like a derelict, abandoned ship, full of dents and looking almost like it was pieced together from other parts. Spock began the scan, and Jim glanced over at Bones, whose face was white as a sheet, his eyes locked on the viewscreen. Jim tapped his arm and gently instructed him to return to his post in sickbay, incase there were any casualties if this escalated. 

  “Still no shields raised, Captain. Ours are at 100%. Phasers and photon torpedoes at the ready.” Sulu reported, his voice stiff and level. Still no shields, but headed straight at us. 

  “No response to my hails yet, but still sending them, Captain.”

  “Spock, where’s my scan report?” Jim demanded, and Spock visibly hesitated, before turning and giving his own report:

  “Very little manning of the vessel, Captain. My scan only shows two life forms.The ship is of Klingon design.”

  “So, it’s reasonable to assume that those life-forms are Klingon?” Jim asserted, to which Spock shook his head.

  “Any assumption at this point-” Spock was cut off by a series of rapid beeps from his console, which he immediately spun around to tend to. Jim noticed his motions becoming more and more agitated as he examined the data running over his screen, and resisted the urge to get out of his chair. “Captain- there appears to be extreme energy fluctuation within the ship…” he paused. “It appears that they are going to cause an explosion by mixing antimatter and matter.”

  Jim was so shocked, and also taken aback by the calm in Spock’s voice, when the words were assuring him of certain destruction. They were going to destroy their own ship? They were close enough now that the blast would…

  “Helm! Hard about and warp seven, back where we came from! Get us away from that ship.” he called, the urgency in his voice made obvious by the way it made Ensign Chekov jump forward in his seat. The ship pulled around, and they were about to go into warp, but then the viewscreen was filled with so much light that Jim thought his head was going to explode, and all he could recall after that was falling- it felt like he was falling forever, and into nothing. 


End file.
